


Game Plan

by fallen_sparrow



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post - s02e09, and exactly why did don buy the book?, snappy dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallen_sparrow/pseuds/fallen_sparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don and Sloan talk a lot, because they always talk a lot.</p><p>(Set after the Season 2 Finale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Plan

It’s almost three by the time that Obama’s finished with his victory speech and Will turns the election coverage back over to Jane in D.C. There probably aren’t many viewers awake now, but Jane has a panel ready to discuss the implications of the president’s reelection in case anyone is too excited to sleep. Sloan thinks that most of the News Night staff probably fall into the category—not into Jane Barrow’s late night audience, but into those too excited to sleep. 

As soon as the all clears have been called, she pulls out her earpiece and scrolls through a few messages on her phone before its 3% battery drops to zero.  Across the desk, Elliot is congratulating Will again, before making his excuses to get home to his wife and kids. Taylor, who looks a little bemused by the drama of the night, and a little depressed by Romney’s loss, follows Elliot out the door.

The bright studio lights have been dimmed, but Sloan can see Will smiling to himself and it’s probably because Mac is saying something in his ear. Even though her own earpiece has been hastily discarded and Will isn’t saying anything back, Sloan feels like she’s intruding.

To avoid eye contact with Will, she looks down at the papers spread in front of her. There are water marks in the shape of ACN coffee mugs on many of them, smearing her neatly printed additions to the graphs. On one set of graphs detailing the gender and economic splits in voters, there are a few words, crammed in the corner in blue ink, that don’t match her handwriting. She runs a finger over them absently.

If she’s being completely honest, she’s not only avoiding eye contact with Will. Now that she’s no longer broadcast to an audience, she doesn’t have to look at the camera.  She’s been anchoring long enough that she’s normally unphased by the huge lens that records her every word, but now, she thinks of who might be watching her from the control room and feels a strange emotional response that she doesn’t even want to begin to categorize at this time of night.

The clock in the corner of the room tells her the time, but Sloan has been in windowless rooms for so long that she wouldn’t be surprised if it were the middle of the morning. She’s tired, but it’s a general sort of exhaustion and because of Genoa, she’s felt this way for long enough that it’s mostly masked by adrenaline. She takes one last glance at the paper with the blue words before stuffing it into the larger pile. Something of the resolve and surety she had earlier returns and her heels click nosily on the tile as she exits the studio.

She is considering stopping in the control room, but before she actually has to make that decision, her momentum is stopped by Mackenzie’s appearance in front of her.

She hadn’t been in the newsroom when Will had made the announcement of the night (she’d been in her office, instinctually hiding from what she’d done), so she’s at first struck by how happy Mac looks. They’ve all been worn thin by Genoa, with Mac taking it harder than most, and so the contrast is even more striking.

“Kenzie,” Sloan says, and reaches out to give her a hug made only slightly awkward by the stacks of papers they both are holding. “What in the Hell happened?” It’s probably the question that everyone in the whole damn newsroom has wanted to ask.

Mac’s face takes on a bemused look, maybe because Sloan’s voice was more accusatory than she meant for it to be. “Well,” she said, “I think that Will and I got engaged. In the middle of the broadcast. And that I’m not fired anymore. And Charlie and Will aren’t resigning anymore and Reese isn’t firing anyone.”

“Yes, those are quite a lot of things that you’ve helpfully listed but what I’m talking about is how did you and Will go from wherever you were about four hours ago to this?” She gestures at Mac’s ring, and her generally incandescent smile.

“Well, I think the words ‘I love you,’ and ‘Will you marry me?’ were involved.” Mac crinkles her nose as if she’s actually confused on the topic.

Sloan shrugs, because she really can’t tell if Mac is being sarcastic or if she’s honestly too distracted. “Alright, I see that you’re thinking too much about Will being in the room over there and not enough about my questions, so I’ll let you go. But we are getting drinks tomorrow and we are going to talk.”

Mac nods absently and Sloan gives her another hug and they’ve said goodnight when Mackenzie stops. “Sloan?” she calls out, her hand resting on the door to the studio.

“Yeah?”

“About earlier…”

Sloan senses that this line of questioning can’t be good. Either Mac is going to yell at her for being in the control room when they were supposed to be calling the election, which she probably deserves, or she’s going to bring up _why_ Sloan was in the control room. And that leads to a whole other set of questions that Sloan can’t even begin to answer for herself.

“Drinks. Tomorrow.” Sloan interjects, partly because at that moment, Will exits the studio and she’s pretty sure that Mac no longer cares about her response, given the way her eyes have latched onto Will.

She makes her way to her office, grabbing a plastic cup full of champagne from Jenna the intern on the way. Mac had been insistent that the panel stay sober for the duration of the show, which seemed mostly pointless considering that everyone was drunk enough on relief and joy and love and all sorts of emotions that don’t fit into champagne bottles.

She’s barely managed to plug her phone into the charger when there’s a knock on the door. It opens before she can turn around to see who it is and when she does, it’s Don in front of her, holding two plastic cups in his hands. He wordlessly hands her one, and she takes a sip before putting it down on her desk next to the other one. It’s flat and warm. Champagne should really be poured right after it’s opened.

“I—” they both start speaking: the same word at the same moment. There’s a pause as they look at each other, but only a little one, before they both begin again. “I can write something in German, too, if you’d like.” “I really don’t want to screw this up.”

And then she can’t help herself, like she couldn’t before in the control room. She takes a step towards him, and wraps her arms around his neck this time. No hesitation means no time for thinking about how her office has glass walls, and so she kisses him without delay.

He sets down his drink on her desk and wraps his arms around her waist.

After a second she stops, a second implication of Don’s words seeping through her brain. “When you said you didn’t want to screw this up, were you by any chance referring to our long standing platonic friendship?”

Don chuckles and gives her that look that she’s started to notice he uses on her. It’s a stupid happy, awestruck look. “God, no.”

She starts to mirror his smile. “Good because I was pretty sure of myself back there, which is strange because normally I’m the last person who knows how to respond in situations like  that—” he cuts her off by continuing the kiss and she really doesn’t mind that she didn’t get to finish her sentence this time.

 

* * *

 

Sloan really wouldn’t have minded staying in her office forever but half the staff is still outside and a (probably) drunk Neal is knocking on the door telling them that they should get a room that doesn’t have glass walls.

“I should probably tell him that he can stop looking for the person who bought my book and go home,” Sloan says, taking a very small step away from Don, but not bothering to acknowledge Neal in any other way.

“You honestly think that he was going to stay up after the election trying to figure out who bought your book in the auction?”

“He would have to get Mac’s Wikipedia page changed.”

“Yes, but as a favor to Mac, who thought she was about to be fired.”

“This was an equally good and noble cause. Someone bought my book for a thousand dollars, which is about fifty times more than it’s worth, even with my signature, and really they got Gary’s forgery.”

“If you think back to the events of the past few hours, you might recall that the situation has been rectified.” He’s looking a little bit smug as he says that.

“Yes,” her lips turn up at the corners, “But I didn’t know that at the time and Neal still probably thinks he’s fighting the good fight.”

“If that’s your definition of the good fight…”

“You know, I think I heard Rebecca Halliday telling Taylor that you were going to sue Dantana for intentional affliction of emotional distress?”

“He was going to sue _me_!” Don’s voice rises as it always does when he’s about to lose it over some injustice.

Sloan rolls her eyes, and pushes some papers aside so she can sit on top of her desk. There needs to be some space between them anyways if they’re going to stop kissing for good. “I know and it’s bullshit but that’s my point. You’re doing the right thing by doing something that might seem slightly misguided at first glance.”

“What was Rebecca doing telling that to Taylor in the first place?” Either he’s seen the reason in her words or he’s decided that it’s no longer important to discuss Neal Sampat’s hypothetical actions

“Well, she didn’t use your name but you’re the only one who Dantana is suing separately and I applied logic.”

He laughs and picks up the closest cup champagne, finishing it in a quick swallow.

“I’m going to ask you a question.” She would have crossed her arms if she weren’t sitting, so she settles for crossing her legs instead.

“Shoot.” He’s doing the thing that she realizes he’s started to do all the time around her. All of his sarcasm and sharpness falls away and his face relaxes into that stupid smile.

“What exactly was your game plan, buying a fraudulently signed copy of my book for a ridiculous amount of money with a pseudonym?” Don has berated her before for badly thought out plans, but this has to be the most inscrutable series of actions either of them have made.

“Sloan.”

“If I’d known you were interested I’d have given you a signed copy for free. And then you could have kept the thousand dollars.”

“It was a charity auction. I think don’t being economically prudent would have sent the right message.”

“You know, I wasn’t going to ask this but did you buy it because you didn’t want my feelings to get hurt if no one had bid on it? Because honestly I wouldn’t have even remembered that I’d donated a book if Neal hadn’t brought it up.”

“Didn’t even occur to me.”

“What?”

“It didn’t even occur to me that you would be afraid no one would bid.”

“But no one but you bid. Unless Archibald Craven suddenly rose from the literary dead with a sudden interest in Post-World War I German economics, which I somehow doubt.”

“It was also $1000 dollars for a book that’s way beyond the reading level of most college educated adults. And really, the people who go to charity auctions? They’re going to spend the big bucks on a trip to the Bahamas or a day at the spa or tickets to go watch baseball with Will.”

“Well obviously you didn’t expect me to find out that it was you because you used a long list of probably untraceable pseudonyms.”

“You traced them.”

“Yes, because I have superior powers of logic. Well, logic or you chose the names from items in your office.”

 “Huh.” It’s almost as if Don hasn’t considered how obvious he was.

“So why’d you do it?”

“Huh?”

“Why’d you buy the book, really?”

“Dunno. It was something nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, nice, it’s a thing I do now. I’m nice. I bought it ‘cause I thought it’d make you happy.”

“Well, it did. But you probably couldn’t have accounted for that at the time.”

“It was meant to be happy in a thousand-dollars-to-Sandy-relief-because-of-you way. But I can live with the other kind, too.” He takes a step closer to her, and she flicks her eyes towards the door, hoping that everyone will be too distracted to notice if they decide to start kissing again.

In fact there is. “We’re closing the office in 10 minutes so take the party somewhere else!” No one can yell louder than Charlie Skinner. Sloan had assumed he’d left right after the broadcast but she supposes he was talking with Will and Mac or the Lansings and is now appalled that any respected newsman, well newsperson, but Charlie would say newsman, is left in the goddamn office.

“Time to hit the road, Keefer.”  She grabs the three empty cups and stacks them before hopping off her desk.

“Where you headed?” He’s probably asking if she’s getting drinks.

“Home. Wanna split a cab?” It’s been established that they live close enough to each other that this is sometimes a practical monetary decision.

“Uhh.” Don isn’t often speechless, but this is the second time tonight.

Sloan laughs as she unplugs her phone and tosses it into her oversized bag. “It’s almost four in the morning and I think we’re getting sued in two hours and have to be at work probably three hours after that. I’m not asking you to sleep with me.”

“That wasn’t. That was not what I thought you were saying. I was just—”

She cuts him off with a lingering kiss. “You’ll know when I’m asking you to sleep with me, probably because it will be preceded by those words and then directly followed by the removal of clothing.”

“Jesus,” Don says.                        

Sloan leaves all her files on her desk in a messy pile and considers going to change out of her dress but Charlie said ten minutes and she’s pretty sure they’ve wasted half of that already.

After she throws on her coat and grabs her purse, she takes Don’s hand and responds to his rather obligatory protest with, “Tess and Kendra were in the control room.”

He stops in his office and grabs a set of keys and a jacket. Charlie must have left directly after his proclamation and only the more conscientious staff remains: Tamara and Martin have stuck around to help corral the mess that a presidential election and an impromptu engagement party caused.

“Night!” Sloan calls to Jenna, who as the intern is obligated to stay. Sloan had always felt a bit of a connection with her. She had overheard some of the junior staff calling her ‘sorority girl’ for her first week and Sloan knows what it’s like to be judged based on appearance alone.

 

The warmth of the building evaporates as soon as they step outside. It’s practically early morning now, but it’s winter and the sky is full of clouds. There’s an alert on Sloan’s phone that warned her of some inclement weather in the near future. Despite the hint of dawn light, the streets are nearly empty and when it’s clear that they’re going to have to wait a minute, Don puts his arm around her shoulders.

They find a ride and slide into the cab, Don getting in first like he always does.

The cabby takes their addresses. “There’s going to be a storm tomorrow,” he remarks as they pull away from the curb.

“Yeah?” Don asks.

“A fucking blizzard.”

The fake leather seats of the cab are cold against Sloan’s bare legs and she shifts in the seat so that she’s huddled up against Don’s side. She should have pulled on some yoga pants before leaving. “Let’s get breakfast tomorrow.”

He smiles down at her. “Meet at the coffee shop next to Hang Chew’s at 10?”

“And if we don’t have work…?” What if they don’t have that reason to see each other, is what she means.

 “Then I’ll walk over to yours.” He wraps his arm around her and she rests her head against his shoulder.

She considers saying _it’s a date_ , but that sounds too cheesy. And plus, it’s weird to think of getting food with Don as a date. They’ve done it plenty of times before, sometimes grabbing half a sandwich in the break before the show, sometimes having lunch meetings to discuss new stories.

So it’s just getting food with Don. Except that he might kiss her. Not that she disapproves of that, at all. It’s just that she thinks that they need to talk. Not about the book, not anymore, but about what they both want out of whatever it was that they had just started. She’s not worried: this has been a long time in the making. But they still need to vocalize what she thinks is implicit. Because a relationship with Don would be different. They work together, for one. But more importantly it’s a question of where they’re starting. They can skip the getting to know you dates, that’s for sure. They’d been getting closer for the past year and sometimes she’s surprised that something hadn’t happened between them earlier.

Don’s feelings were clear and she had essentially told him a year ago that she wanted him to ask her out. Although that had been followed by a lot of denial on both their parts. But things had changed and when she had marched into the control room to kiss him, she kept thinking that it was about time.

“Sloan?” he murmurs her name into her hair, and given that his arms are around her and her head is leaned against his chest, it feels fairly intimate.

“Yeah?” she sits up straighter to get a look at Don’s face.

“We’re almost to your apartment.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know if you were sleeping. You were quiet.”

Now it’s definitely the exhaustion that makes her giggle. “No. No.”

He smiles again, and she thinks that he’s smiled a lot tonight. Normally she and Don just talk at each other all the time. There’s hardly ever a second to breathe, except when she’s filling in for Elliot and has to talk at a slightly more comprehensible pace. Maybe he’s thinking along the same lines because there’s a beat and then they’re kissing again. It’s in the back of a cab and four in the morning so it’s nothing desperate. Just to remind themselves that they’ve come to the agreement that it is alright to kiss in semi-public places. That they can kiss in general.

The cab stops and Sloan scoots across the seat to the door. She pays for her half of the fare and accidentally on purpose brushes her fingers against Don’s before she says goodbye and leaves the cab.

She’s halfway asleep by the time the elevator stops on her floor. As she’s entering her apartment, her phone buzzes and she pulls it out. It’s a text and of course it’s from Don. “ _Check your mail,”_ it reads. “ _Charlie says mandatory meeting at 9:30_.”

She’s going to be so fucking tired in the morning. _“See you then?”_ She was going to check her email before she slept anyways, and Don must have known his message was redundant. And this probably means that they won’t get a chance to talk until the end of another hellishly long day.

A second text flashes onto the screen. _“Meet you at 8:45?”_

It’s absolutely ridiculous for her to be smiling at her phone as much as she is. Her phone isn’t Don. But she doesn’t think that’s he’s saying it because being overly considerate is what he thinks that a really good guy would do. She would be willing to bet that it’s because the prospect of not seeing each other before they have to work again was as disappointing to him as it had been to her in those few moments. She might even tease him about it after she’s had a minimum of two shots of espresso.

_“Absolutely.”_

 


End file.
